


A Difficult Conversation

by MerenwenNolat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Arospec Awareness Week 2021, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blatant misuse of grammar, But not the same way, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Internal Monologue, Minor Angst, but it's okay I promise, internalised arophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerenwenNolat/pseuds/MerenwenNolat
Summary: Things are going swimmingly post-armageddon't. Crowley doesn't want to cock it up.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	A Difficult Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aretia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretia/gifts).



> For [aretia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretia/pseuds/aretia) because you are awesome.
> 
> Many thanks to [Melibe](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe) for the beta and being a sounding board. Any and all mistakes left are definitely my own.
> 
> Content note: some internalised arophobia from an aro character.

Here's the thing.

Crowley's not stupid, despite occassional evidence to the contrary. He knows, he _knows_ Aziraphale has loved him for years[1], but that's just, y'know. That's what angels do, right?

The point is, though. The _point_ is…

Well look. The point is that love is important to Aziraphale. He's all...all overflowing with love for good wine and intricate pastries and misprinted bibles and snuffboxes and ducks in the park and stupid magic tricks[2] and, and, and….

And against all probability he's full of love for Crowley, pre-armageddon't protestations aside. Since they've managed to shake off their former sides, as it were, the angel has been all but overflowing with it. There's been dozens of bottles of fine wine every night, picnic excursions where the angel barely screams once at Crowley's driving, sly invitations to commit minor mischief. A variegated monstera with a tartan ribbon around the pot presented with flushed cheeks and a demure smile. 

And look, it's been fine. More than fine! It's amazing, incredible, the stuff of Crowley's wildest fantasies, if he'd ever dared to have fantasies. Every moment he can spend with the angel and just _be_ is an impossible gift.

But it's not enough.

No, that's not right. It's well and truly more than enough, _for Crowley_. Aziraphale is fulfilling Crowley's every want and need, even ones he’s never known he had[3], and as the days and weeks pass Crowley knows that he has never felt peace and joy like he has at Aziraphale's side. Not even when he was still amongst the stars.

Aziraphale, though. Aziraphale, who has read almost every love story every written[4], who sighs with happiness and whispers blessings at every loving couple he sees, who insists on stopping and buying coffee every time he passes the cart run by the three poly lesbians…

Look, it's just the love thing. The, eargh, the _romantic_ thing. 

The angel is a huge romantic, alright? It started in the Garden, what with the sword, and it hasn't stopped since. Aziraphale has had his sticky mitts all over thousands of expressions of love, and now he's showering Crowley with tokens of affection, his eyes practically glowing with all the love he's got inside of him. He's overflowing with the stuff, so much so that Crowley can almost sense it, demonic limitations or no.

And that's a thing. A thing Crowley doesn't know how to deal with.

See, Crowley can't get enough of it, and Someone knows he's spent literal centuries showering the angel with any token of affection that he could. But it's different for Crowley. Crowley has everything he could ever want already. There is nothing more that Aziraphale could do, or give, to make Crowley's existence more complete[5]. But Crowley can't, he _can't_ give the angel the love he needs.

Look, he's tried, alright? It's not that he doesn't _feel_ love, okay, it's just not the _right kind_ for the angel. There is no other creature in existence that matters more to Crowley[6], whose wellbeing he is more concerned with and whose happiness he cares more for, than Aziraphale. But there's no romance there, and no amount of chocolates or candlelit dinners or secret reading of those frothy novels has spawned it in him. 

Crowley knows Aziraphale loves affection in all its forms, and this is one Crowley can't give him. 

It hurts.

It hurts and he doesn't know what to do about it.

~~~

It takes months for Crowley to speak to the angel about it.

It's complicated, alright? They've never really talked about stuff before, and it turns out it's not a skillset that spontaneously develops in response to surviving attempted execution. The thought of potentially disrupting this ideal life they seem to have fallen into makes Crowley want to flee, maybe curl into a ball and sleep for a millenium this time in the hope the problem fixes itself. 

But eventually he gets there, after another evening in the back room of the bookshop filled with wine and ridiculous arguments. Works up the, the whatsit. Fortitude. Builds his courage, and even sobers up for the conversation. Takes off his glasses, keeps fidgeting to a minimum.

"Oh, my dear." Aziraphale hadn't moved throughout Crowley's rambling explanation, but now he's shifted from his armchair to perch carefully on the sofa beside the demon. Crowley doesn't know whether to flinch away or reach out with reassurances, so he splits the difference and stays as still as possible. Aziraphale doesn't look angry, or hurt, so this is already going better than Crowley had honestly expected.

"So yeah. That'sssss…." Crowley coughs awkwardly instead of finishing the thought. Surely he's used enough words, right? It's the angel's turn to speak now innit? Oh Satan, what if this is it and he's fucked everything up and-

"Let me just...clarify, Crowley, so that we don't misunderstand each other. Are you trying to tell me that you don't feel romantic love for me?"

"'Ssssss not, I _can't_ \- look, I've tried, alright, it'sssnot intentional-"

"-yes, of course, excuse my poor wording. You _can't_ feel romantic love for me."

It would be overly dramatic, not to mention inaccurate, to say that Crowley had never felt so miserable in his life[7]. The thought occurs anyway[8] \- it's too hard to read Aziraphale's mood, the bastard, and Crowley is not enjoying waiting for the proverbial shit to hit the metaphorical fan. "'Sss probably a demonic whatsit," he mutters, tucking one hand under his thigh so he can't cross his arms. 

"Crowley. Being a demon does not make one incapable of romantic love. Your awful lurky coworkers are proof of that."

"Wait, who- _Hastur and Ligur?_ Since when-"

"-it doesn't _matter_ , Crowley!" Oh shit, that's right, they're in the middle of a serious conversation here- "my point is that romantic love isn't something barred to occult beings."

Aziraphale doesn't look like he's annoyed that Crowley is failing at the basic task of loving him properly - and shit, if Aziraphale can sense different types of love than he's probably known about Crowley's failure all along, but-

Okay, so whatever panic is showing on his face must be telegraphing whole paragraphs to Aziraphale, because the angel is reaching out and holding his hand and is this a thing they do now, does Aziraphale want to hold hands, and is Crowley being greedy for wanting more of it immediately when he can't even do emotions right-

"Breathe, my dear. You're not lacking because you don't feel romantic love. Our, our _relationship_ is not lacking because it's not romantic. Aren't you happy? I know that I am."

He can't be serious. "Angel, I know for a fact that you go ssstupid over romance." Crowley's seen the angel's sappy looks at weddings. And fellow diners at the Ritz. And terrible froufrou movie posters. He tightens his fingers around Aziraphale so the angel can't pull away.

Aziraphale frowns. He brings his other hand up and cups it around the back of Crowley's hand. "Crowley. Your love is….it's the most wonderful feeling, my dear. I never used to allow myself to acknowledge that it was there, because that would mean questions, and doubting company policy, and, well, I suppose I was rather too afraid for that. But these last few months…" Aziraphale is looking at their hands, and his eyes have that sappy look, he looks _happy_ \- "My dear, I want for _nothing_. I am….incandescent with joy, that we have each other. I do not _need_ it, and I do not mourn its lack. I only wish I'd said something earlier and spared you the worry. I assumed you knew that I knew."

Nothing about this conversation is going the way the Crowley expected, and he can't decide whether he's feeling happiness or indigestion[9]. "It's not- but what about- won't you miss it?" 

And now Aziraphale is looking at him, and Crowley feels pinned by that gaze, split open and helpless and naked before his angel[10]. "I wish," Aziraphale's voice is barely above a whisper, "for you to be exactly who you are, my dear. I would never change this about you."

Crowley might cry[11]. To be accepted as he is, every facet of him, it's not something he's had since his Fall. Since before then, even. 

Aziraphale has never denied him his questions.

Here and now Aziraphale is smiling, and the smile is turning sly. Crowley sees it, and he braces himself as best he can-

"Besides, I'm sure I can tempt you into reading to me. I've been enjoying the Guild Hunter series, and _Archangel's Consort_ is next-"

"Why you _sly little shit!_ "

[1] Aziraphale has loved Crowley for millenia, regardless of whether either angel or demon realised it, but that is neither here nor there

[2] Dear Satan, why?

[3] Watching Aziraphale glue coins to the pavement in St James' Park is one of the highlights of Crowley's entire existence

[4] Not even an immortal reader who requires no sleep can keep up with every new Harlequin and Mills & Boon release, but the angel stills makes an effort*  
*Not that kind of Effort

[5] Except for Aziraphale to swear to never do his stupid magic act again, ugh

[6] Including his own self, if he's honest. He tries not to be

[7] The bandstand, the bookshop, and the entire fourteenth century were certainly worse, for starters

[8] Crowley was far too dramatic to let factual inaccuracies get in the way of a good snit

[9] It's joy. Crowley doesn't bother with stomach acid as a general rule - it interferes with alcohol too much

[10] A possessive he has always longed for but never dared use before

[11] Crowley is crying, but fortunately for him Aziraphale isn't too much of a bastard and will never mention it

**Author's Note:**

> There is a coffee cart in my town that's owned and run by three lesbians who have been in a triad for more than a decade, and gdi I had to put it in a fic at least once. 
> 
> This is my first time writing explicitly aromantic content, so if I've made any errors I should know about or left out any warnings, please comment or PM me and I'll fix it ASAP.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](https://merenwennolat.tumblr.com/) where I have no idea what I'm doing.


End file.
